At first Dave and his mother didn’t really do anything; stunned in that age between recognition and action. They weren’t sure where the noise had come from, and it wasn’t until they heard a female voice screaming from the street that they clicked into gear and raced to see what had happened.
The sight that they were met with has long since been imprinted on Dave’s mind. The car was squashed up against the house with Mr Dawson sat trapped in the driver seat. There didn’t seem to be any bonnet on the car at all. The car had hit with so much force that the windscreen was almost touching the house. At first Dave thought that Mr Dawson was dead, he was white as a sheet and bent forward over what was left of the steering column. His brother Scott (who miraculously seemed unharmed), was kneeling beside the car with Mr Dawson’s daughter Natalie who, between sobs, was screaming for her dad.
As Dave and his mother drew nearer he could see that Mr Dawson, although obviously badly hurt, was conscious and looking around. The next thing that struck Dave was the colour of the car. He couldn’t remember if the Dawson’s were painting the Granada but presumed they were because the rear half of the car was a strong royal blue and what was left of the front was deep crimson. His young mind was obviously not taking everything in because he also couldn’t understand why they had been painting the car on Dave’s parent’s lawn and why so much paint had been spilled. Reality soon hit home as his mother let out a long drawn out ‘NNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!’ and sprinted to what Dave could now see was the badly deformed body of his sister. Her head was tilted towards Dave lying on the buckled car bonnet. One side of her face was completely missing; ripped off from the force of the impact. The other side of her face was perfectly intact, with her one remaining eye staring at Dave with a questioning look. What’s happened Dave? Why is Mum crying? Can I go home now? PLEASE!
The next few hours were a blur for Dave; he can vaguely remember Mr Simpson from next door gently putting an arm around his shoulders and leading him away. He can also remember sitting in the Simpson’s kitchen and being offered Orange squash. Then, much later in the evening when it had gotten dark, his parents came to collect him.
The Simpson’s stayed with him the whole time; they answered his questions as best they could; he can remember thinking to himself that he admired and greatly appreciated their honesty. He didn’t eat and they never offered a second time after he politely refused. He never asked to go outside; even at the age of ten he knew that seeing anymore would be too much for him.
His Father was at work when the accident happened, so someone (his mother? A neighbour? The Simpson’s?) Must have phoned him. He never saw his Father come home and he never looked in to see if Dave was OK. He couldn’t imagine what his Father's drive home from work would have been like – how can you drive when your first born has just been crushed to death on the family lawn? Was he told at work? Or did someone just say an accident had happened and let him discover the grisly scene for himself.
At some point an ambulance or two must have come to take away Mr Dawson and his sister’s body; but he neither saw nor heard this. The police must also have come but again he witnessed nothing. When his parents collected him the car had been removed from the lawn, but the next morning and for two weeks after, the tire tracks and a red hue could still be seen. There was no major damage to the house (the car had struck on a corner) but the small knee high fence that bordered the garden was shattered. About two months later Mr Dawson (still very much in pain from the four broken ribs and punctured lung he received for his sins) spent a couple of days repairing the fence with his brother. Dave’s Father never spoke to Mr Dawson and about eighteen months later the Dawson family moved away.
The funeral came and passed as funerals do; everyone being very solemn and softly spoken. After a brief service at the local crematorium the wake was held at his parent’s house on their back lawn. There were very few children in the Strutter family so thankfully Dave was pretty much left to himself. He was definitely grateful for the lack of attention as he was dreading an afternoon of polite questions about school work or girlfriends. He spent the majority of his time listening in on the guest’s conversations but he learnt nothing new about the accident; most people were far too polite to talk details on a day like that.
After everybody had passed on their condolences and left, Dave helped his parents clear away the plates and glasses (nobody had eaten much and Dave saw a week full of sausage rolls ahead). The evening passed very quietly, neither he nor his parents felt much like talking and about 9pm Dave headed off to bed. He kissed his Mother goodnight and gave his Father a hug. He lay awake for a few hours listening to his parents talk downstairs and at one stage whilst on the verge of sleep he was sure he heard his Father sobbing.
‘David? David? Are you awake?’ his Mother’s voice stirred him from sleep. ‘DAVID!’ He was having a very vivid dream where Mr Dawson was trying to fix their garden fence, but every time he hammered in a new fence post huge geysers of blood went squirting up from the lawn. Mr Dawson wasn’t noticing the blood – he just kept hammering and hammering until he was covered head to toe in a crimson suit.
‘Yeah I’m awake. What’s the matter? What’s wrong? Is dad OK?’ He had no idea what time it was, but he sensed the house was deathly quiet and his Mother was in her pajamas, so it must have been well into the early hours.
‘Oh no nothing like that,’ she said in a whisper. ‘I just wanted to talk. That’s all. And to say I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry for what?’
‘Sorry for not being there for you. You’ve been so brave these last few weeks. Braver than I could ever have imagined. No family should have to go through something like this, and no-one should ever have to go through it alone.’ Even though it was pitch dark he could tell she was crying.
He sat up in bed and put his arms around her. He could feel tears slowly kissing his neck and he started crying with her.
‘I miss her too mum,’ he said, his face buried deep in her soft neck.
They stayed that way for a long time. Her crying slowly turned into deep sobs that shook her whole body. He had presumed his Mother had cried a lot since Katy had died – his last vision as he was led away by Mr Simpson was of his Mother crying as she held onto Katy’s lifeless body – but thinking back he hadn’t actually seen her cry since then. Her eyes, normally so blue and alive, had been red and bloodshot most of the time and she had a hankie under her nose during the funeral. But actually crying? He didn’t think so. This was the first time she felt she could let it out. The first time she could be away from his Father and let her feelings show. At that moment he felt real hate for his Father; hate for being so inward; so thoughtless that he had forced his wife out of bed at God knew what time to cry about her dead daughter.
The sobbing eased and she pulled back, wiping at her tears as she did.
‘Your Father has been devastated by this,’ she said in a much more formal voice. ‘I can’t get through to him.’
‘We’ve all been devastated by this,’ he said. ‘I’ve lost my sister.’ He started crying again.
‘I know you have Davey. I Know. But…….,’ she trailed off unsure of how to continue. ‘Your Father has changed. He’s different. I’ve never seen him like this before. When your Grandma died we used each other to……to comfort one another. But now, he won’t let me in. He won’t let me comfort him.’
Dave didn’t know what to say. He was ten years old and had never seen his mother like this. She was always so controlled; so sure of herself. His Father was always distant and aloof; that was his way. But her gentle jibing could bring even him back down to earth. But this? This was way out of league for a ten year old.
‘It’s hard for all of us. We’re all affected in different ways. We just need time, I suppose,’ he said.
‘I know. You’re right,’ she recoiled a bit, as if suddenly realising she was only talking to a child. ‘We all need time. I’ve just never seen him this low. This distant.’
S
he kissed him gently on the forehead, got up and walked towards the door.
‘Everything will be Ok won’t it mum?’ he whispered.
‘I hope so Davey, I really do,’ she said, but even though it was dark and his eyes had not properly adjusted to the light. He saw a look in her eyes that sent a shiver down his spine. He saw fear.
Chapter 4
Dave’s thoughts returned to the present as he circled the hole in his parent’s lawn. It was square shaped, about eight feet in length and roughly five feet deep. Dave peered over the edge but saw only dried mud at the bottom.
What’s the old guy been up to now? He asked himself. His first thought was a gold fish pond but it seemed too deep for that.
Swimming pool? Nah…... What about a hot tub? the kinky old buggers! He chuckled to himself at the thought, but it looked too thin for a hot tub and too small for a pool. He scratched his head and took a step back to take in the whole scene.
The hole looked like it had been dug out by some really heavy duty machinery, but Dave didn’t think his dad owned a JCB or anything like that. There was no sign that anything had been driven through the garden as the lawn was untouched apart from a massive pile of what was obviously the inside of the dig. The mud seemed quite fresh – no more than two days old – which Dave thought was odd. If his parents were having work done whilst they were away, he thought his father might have mentioned it.
He walked around the muddy crevice again being careful around the edges. It wasn’t quite deep enough to get trapped in, but if you were unlucky enough to fall in, a broken ankle was definitely on the cards.
Everything else in the garden looked exactly as Dave remembered it; the oppressive hedge on the surrounds; the rickety old shed at the far end and a large amount of potted plants on the patio. Why his mother insisted in planting so many plants in pots when they had such a large garden was beyond Dave, but seeing everything as it should be calmed him and bought his mind back to the job in hand.
The rear of the house was made up of a single kitchen window and a double patio door that lead into the dining room. Both of these were double glazed and locked tight. Dave knew that his only real hope lay in a small window to the left of the kitchen which opened on a utility room joined to the garage. About ten years ago they had all the windows on the house replaced with modern double glazing, except this small window and its adjoining door. Even though the door had not been replaced, he knew it to be a sturdy old thing, but the window never seemed to latch properly and many times as a young boy he had climbed his way through.
Using the same old schoolboy trick, he propped one foot on the edge of the stone barbecue that backed on to the garage and one foot on the window sill. The window looked locked, but a quick wiggle loosened the latch and the window was free.
Dave breathed a sigh of relief and opened the window wide. It was only small, but he recalled having no difficulty in the past squeezing through, and although the intervening years had added a few pounds (especially around the gut) he didn’t think he would have any trouble now. The window was frosted so he couldn’t see what was on the other side, but his mother always had a work bench just under the window where she would prepare her cuttings, and he presumed this would still be there.
He used the gutter on the garage roof as leverage and he poked his head and shoulders through the gap, the first thing that struck him was the smell; a repugnant rotting smell, kind of like a cross between homemade compost and sweat. It clawed at the back of his throat and he gagged several times. The second and most worrying thing that struck him was the lack of a work table. Although his angle severely restricted his view, he presumed his parents had rearranged the utility room and had put the table somewhere else.
Oh thanks a lot! He thought. Nice time for a room change.
This was now quite a serious problem for Dave. Presuming the table would still be there, he had given himself a big shove and had managed to get most of his upper body through the window. The latches scraped at his chest as he pushed himself through and were now painfully digging into his stomach. But this wasn’t the real problem. The real problem was he was now well past the point of no return.
He waved his arms around to try and get some purchase on the inside. He wanted to push himself back out, or at the very least control his current position, but all of this was to no avail. In fact, the only part of his body that he had any real control over were his feet, which were barely touching the outside window ledge. The only manoeuvre left was to gently ease himself the rest of the way through. Yes, this was the result he had originally wanted but he hadn’t counted on a four foot, head first drop onto god knew what.
Not really thinking, but then again perhaps thinking too much might have left him hanging there indefinitely, he pushed himself up and through; and knocked himself out cold on his parents utility room floor.
Chapter 5
In the weeks following Katy’s funeral, life in the Strutter house was naturally solemn. The three weeks left of the school holidays seemed to take an eternity to pass and Dave was glad when the day came to start a new term.
‘You know Davey, you don’t have to go back so soon,’ his mother said on his first morning back. ‘People will understand. I can write you a note, or call the school.’
‘It’s OK mum I think I actually need to do it,’ he said. ‘I think I need to get back to normal.’
‘I know. Things will get back to normal here as well. I………we…………just need time,’ she broke off holding back tears.
‘I love you mum,’ he said and hugged her.
‘I love you too Davey. Good luck today. If you feel you can’t face it, just come on home. I’ll be here.’ She kissed him on the top of the head and before she could say anymore, Dave grabbed his school bag and left.
The weeks since the funeral had been very quiet. Conversations in the house had been muted at best. His mother had made no more references to Dave’s father and the times they had been together as a family had been slightly strained but nothing out of the ordinary. His father kept himself to himself and Dave just put it down to the normal grieving process.
At school, none of the teachers brought up the accident, and on occasions were hard on other students that were straying too close to the subject. There were lots of hushed conversations around him; lots of not so subtle pointing and glancing away when he caught someone’s eye. Dave expected all this (and to some extent even welcomed it). Being locked up with his grieving parents for three weeks had put a weird slant on the world and getting back amongst normal humans had a strange comforting quality.
People behaved as people should behave. No one talked to him about his sister, but he knew it was the hot topic on the playground and he knew they all wanted to get the juicy details from him. Everyone seemed to want to know how he was doing and if there was anything he needed, but no one actually asked him what happened; what was it like?; was there much blood? All the questions he knew they were itching to ask.
Dave looked forward to school. It focused his mind and allowed a certain degree of normality to settle over him. As September folded into the more autumnal October, things outside school gradually returned to normal as well. Dave’s father returned to work, and just when Dave thought that maybe, just maybe they might get through this and move on, October 12th came around and events started on a long depressing downward spiral.
October 12th would have been Katy’s fourteenth birthday.
Dave knew this day was going to be different as soon as he woke up; the house just seemed different. No longer just solemn, he now detected an edginess around him. It was stormy outside and the tension in the air seemed to bleed out of the walls of the house. He had not seen his father as he had left early for work, but his mother was downstairs making her breakfast, as he approached he sensed her body tense.
‘Everything Ok mum,’ he asked.
She turned slowly as if not recognizing the voice or where she was and gave Dave a haunting, vacan
t smile.
‘Of course Davey,’ she said ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’
‘Oh no reason. You just seemed a bit distant that’s all.’ He sat at the little breakfast bar and started pouring himself a bowl of cereal.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’
She smiled that vacant smile again, ruffled his hair and headed from the kitchen. Dave sat there in silence as he heard her running a bath upstairs. The smile she had given him had sent a cold shiver down his spine. She had said all the right words and even sounded the same, but Dave’s mind was taken back again and again to her eyes. Eyes that seemed in a state of shock.
What’s he done to her? He thought.
Dave quickly got ready and left for school. Thankfully, his mother was still in the bath when he left, so he didn’t have to speak to her face to face. Instead he spoke to her through the bathroom door.
‘I’m off now mum, I’ve got my lunch.’
There was a long pause and then his mother’s voice drifted out. ‘Ok Davey, you have a nice day then.’ Her voice had that same vacant quality and Dave shivered again. He hurried down the stairs and slammed the front door behind him. He could just make out his mother humming a tune he didn’t recognize as he walked out into the blustery day.
Again he found solace in his school work. As the day continued he gradually put his mother’s weird behaviour down to it being Katy’s birthday. Although he hadn’t seen his father that morning he felt sure that when both his parents were home together in the evening, things would be better.
How wrong could he have been?
Dave got in from school about 4pm; both his parents were home and watching some old black and white film on the television.
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